On the Border
by Seishi
Summary: A Scanran Ambassador comes from the North, but on the border Joren sees no stop in the fighting. Who is the figure in black? Where is Kel? [ *AU* ]
1. The Ambassador

Nesalen frowned in disgust as the city came into view. It resided at the end of a vast valley, with mountains climbing around it. There were some farmers on the outside, but few passed up the protection of the city walls. Through the valley was a river that ended in a lake just before the walls. He wished that he could just dive into the cool waters; the heat was murder in warm Scanra leather. Of course as soon as the thought entered his mind it was declared irrational and erased as if it had never been. He would settle with splashing some on his face.

  The coarse walls were a gray stone, lightened by age. Large stonewalls marked the Southern entrance. He had been here once before. It had not been a pleasant experience. The building's inside were mostly stone, even more weathered by time, with occasional a wooden, lower class building. The streets were wide, with merchants lining the edges. It was a city to watch your purse. Last time he was here he was pick-pocketed, twice! He heard that there was a hierarchy of thieves in the city. How shameful, and within the their capital no less! The palace, he had to admit, was truly beautiful. It resided in the heart of the city, with its tall walls reaching high above the outer gateway. The palace it's self was bordered with buildings just as impressive as the palace. A small convent, recently founded, stock-holds, training centers for knights and the royal army, separate of course, and some residents of high-class nobles. And around that was a garden that made Corus famous.

He muttered under his breath. He had heard of the garden, even in Scanra. Really it was not that good. An ember besides the sun, compared to Scanra's royal garden. Nesalen was trained to remember details, even as minor as these. As they came into sight of the city he heard gasps float up behind him at the view. He stopped his horse and turned around. The soldiers stared blankly at him. There were only ten. _Ten!_ The king, blessed be his name by the great Goddess, insulted him with this! Nothing near the amount suited for his honor guard! He made his voice stone, "You few are those chosen because you are whom the King can spare. But try, _try_, to get this through your head. You shall _not _dishonor yourselves! Why?" he chuckled cruelly, "Because if you dishonor yourselves, you dishonor me. If you dishonor me you dishonor Scanra and the King himself! So I will not tolerated such open awe! We must be seen as stone and just as unapproachable as one. Do you idiots understand me!?" They thumped their fist on their heart, "Yes, sir." He sneered, "What are you doing standing here?" He motioned them forward and turned towards the city. 

  As they went on toward the city there was silence. Good, as it should be. He set his mind on the task before him. The grass was faded to a pale brown, dieing from lack of water. He could see that the river was down by at least a foot. Still it was summer here, with flowers blooming and trees full as if to spite the heat. It was also hot as hell. They had come from Scanra with no expectations of the flaming heat. Nesalen had no memory of such murder. He would be punished for that when he returned of course. He was trained to remember such things. Failure was not acceptable. As they came closer it became obvious that travelers stood outside the walls. Probably waiting for some people. Along the city walls were small openings with men at each. To enter the city you had to name your destination and time of stay, things like that. Then they gave you a paper that allowed you to enter the city. He could tell already that some of the travelers in front would forage these papers. The solders eyed them suspiciously. Some shook their head as they approached him. A knight was talking to a near by peasant. He could not believe it, a peasant!   

He dismounted and gave the soldiers behind him a look that clearly said 'stay'. Still muttering underneath his breath he approached the window. The clerk was hunched over a good amount of papers and scribbling away. A couple books were open, obviously for research; lay around him opened, with bookmarks in them. Bookcases lined the walls of the small room with untidy papers and books filling them. An identical window sat on the opposite wall along with a small door.  He cocked an eyebrow, _how attentive these Torillians are_. "Ahem", nothing. Nesalen couldn't believe this. How could they allow people like this working here? Untidy and slow, it's preposterous! "_Ahem_" The clerk glanced up at him and quickly looked back down. He dipped his quill back into the ink and wrote something hastily. The clerk put the quill down and came to the window, not without a regretful glance at his writings. 

The clerk picked up a quill and wrote something at the top of the paper. "Name?" he said in a monotone voice. How cheerful, Nesalen thought. "Nesalen d'Joar et'aface." The fellow scribbled away and sighed when he had to re-dip his quill.  Rage filled him, "Do you not like my name, Little Man?" He said taking out his dagger; from it's metal case and putting it beneath his chin then skillfully pressured it to lift his face. The hilt was jeweled and reeked of money "N-no, sir." He smiled sadistically, "May I ask what yours is?" Why the fellow looked as if he wanted to wet himself. "Nuli Banashe." His smile widened. "Now, Nuli, continue." He withdrew his dagger. "Y-yes, sir."

There, he thought cheerfully, I bet he'll be more attentive of the next person. Really, he should thank me. "Where have you come from, sir?" he said and looked up at him. Much better. "Scanra." He said, turning back to the soldiers. They sat gawking at the surroundings, maybe his little speech didn't do as good as he thought.  They look like a bunch of fools sitting on their horses. He clicked his tongue in vexation. When he turned back the fellow was looking at him, eyes wide. Nesalan made a writing motion, impatiently, "Write, write." The clerk look startled and inhaled as if to say something but only went back writing. Nesalan had no patience with surprised vermin wasting his time. Nuli looked up and then back down again at the paper, clearly nervous. "How long do you plan to stay in Corus? Uh, sir." He thought for a second, the orders didn't specify. "A month at the most." These plans should be a cinch with this King. He was a fool noble masquerading as a king. The clerk stamped the papers and hastily wrote his signature. He handed the quill to him, quite obviously relived to be rid of him, "Will you sign here, sir?" he said pointing on the paper. Nesalan signed his name elegantly, with much practice perfecting it. 

Paper in hand, he turned to his soldiers. The knight stood behind him, the same one who had been conversing with the peasants, looking at him distastefully. He was a tall man with large shoulder and firmly muscled. He was lightly tan and was obviously an active Knight. His hair was black and cut unevenly just above his shoulders. His age showed with the gray wings in his hair and the small lines on his face. There were small lines at the edges of his mouth showing he laughed a lot. You could see inn his brown eyes that he was a kind man. He wore plain breeches and a plain tunic; the only thing that gave him away was his sword. It hanged loosely at his side and it looked as if it suited him. _A merciful man, weak_, his eyes flickered to his sword, _weak, but still dangerous_. Nesalen managed a thin smile and tipped his hat, "Good morning, Sir knight." 

The knight replied with a bow, "Sir, perhaps you do not know the laws of Corus? The make it clear that no man, at any status, cannot be threatened by blade." The Scanran cocked a cool eyebrow at the knight. "My apologies, sir knight, I was not clear on Corus law. But if you will excuse me I must make haste to the palace." With that he moved around the knight and to his horse. He could feel his eyes on his back as he walked away.

He mounted his horse and turned toward the entrance, motioning the solders to fallow. The Knight had turned back toward the clerk but glanced sideways when he approached the entrance. Intrusting, very intrusting. The gateway was tall, almost as tall as the wall it's self. Two guards stood at the entrance and behind them was a thick wooden bar, blocking the entryway. He handed the paper to one of the guards. He looked at it quickly, Nesalen could tell that he didn't really read it; he would have showed some surprise at seeing the name Scanra on the paper.  He tucked the paper in his pocket, glanced at the soldiers behind him and motioned to let him in. The other guard turned a wheel and the board retreated into the wall. Nesalen's eyebrows rose in surprise. _I wonder what kind of contraption that is. _

As he walked through the gateway the buzz of the city overtook him. People lined the streets with no order among them. No one in sight was on horseback, and people looked at him as he passed, whispering to the person next to him. He frowned, that was not good, he didn't want to attract interest. Sighing, he realized it was futile.  He did not have to turn around to know that the soldiers were gawking like idiots. The streets were no longer just edged with merchants but now stalls took up almost half the street. Colorful objects, beautiful jewels, charms, and fruits of all kinds all filled the stalls. Nothing of interest, except at the amount of foreigners that now resided in Tortal. It had not been so when he was here last. Soon the market district ended and was replaced by tall magnificent buildings that were obviously temples. The buildings had faded a little more, and more vibrant buildings took the place of some. Groups of soldiers walked passed making the flow step around them. He noticed some shady looking characters moving through the crowd.

Turning his head to the side he yelled back to the soldiers, "Watch your purses!" he saw them jump in surprise. Perhaps this honor guard was a larger insult then he thought, if they were competent he might have accepted ten. For the Goddess' name he didn't know what he did to deserve this. First the King, blessed be his name by the Goddess, assigns him to this inane project and then just to slap him in the face gives him an honor guard of ten fumbling idiots! He muttered under his breath as they approached the place. The temples faded and turned into residences and inns. He noticed the buildings steadily getting better as he went forward, obviously the richer you were the closer you lived to the palace. The walls of the inner city were a glimmering white, and much higher than the outer city walls. Thousands of figures mounted the walls and were etched in gold. In the mid morning light they glimmered magnificently. Read and gold clothed guards moved along at the top, peering down at the people walking by. With a grunt, he moved forward to a soldier with a list. The soldier eyed him up and down his frown deepening even more. Nesalen sneered. Sure travel had caused him to dress less nice and he hadn't bathed for a while but his mount should tell him who he was. "Nesalen d'Joar et'aface of Scanra." His frowned even deeper but looked on the list. He eyed him again then the men behind him and yelled, "Let him through!" Nesalen nearly jumped in surprise at the sudden yell. The doors opened from the inside. 

As he went through the gate he once again heard a gasp from behind him and then murmured conversation. A sharp look to the side silenced them. The garden was simply stunning. While the countryside faded to a brown shade the Castle gardens were a vibrant green. Flowers bloomed everywhere, making a beautiful painting of a fairyland. The tree's fruit had not come in, but the blossoms remained. Nobles strolled through pathways with chilled wine in hand. Fountains that sprouted water, pond, gazebos, benches and statues were sprinkled throughout the garden. A single broad stone pathway was paved to the inner city, as it was called. The rumors served it justice; it was much better than Scanra's. He admitted it in his mind but never out loud. Still it was no reason for the soldier's behavior.  Never should they act like that. They had not gone far when a man approached him. By his clothing he was an upper servant. "M'Lord?" He dismounted. His inquiring look said it all. "My name is Nesalen d'Joar et'aface. Of Scanra." He added the last as an afterthought. Realization dawned on the man's face.  "The King has ordered that you be brought to his chambers as soon as you arrive." The servant turned to the man behind him, "Duward, escort these fine men to the stables will you?" Turning back towards him, his face looked as if something bit him, "You see it is policy to have quests greeted at the stables, but dressed so…" The man trailed off. Nesalen nodded, eleven shady looking men with swords, perhaps the guards made a mistake. It was natural to think so. At least these people have good help. "I understand," he said smiling, "No need to be so nervous." He dismounted and handed the reigns to the other servant standing beside him. The servant looked confused at why he was now holding reigns. The servant clicked his tongue in exasperation, "Duward, _now_!" The man called Duward bowed hastily and began to move down the path. Perhaps he spoke too soon. His solders fallowed without complaint. 

The two watched them go for a second before the man gave a graceful bow – perfect to his stature. "If it pleases you, fallow me, m'lord." Nesalen nodded grimly, his mouth tight. They walked down traveled paths that lead steadily to the west, to the King's chambers. Nobles whispered to their servants behind fans, not bothering to hide their source, pointing to him. Whatever they asked the servant always shook their head, eyeing him distrustfully. The nobles knew where this path lead and knew there was no place else he could be going with _that_ escort. They did not bother to show him any formal signs of respect and when he gave a bow worthy of his stature their eyes went as big as saucers at his "insolence". He would have laughed out loud if he wasn't so preoccupied. He was confident, and knew that he reeked of it, that it would be no problem to convince the King, considering the recent events, but it was always good to be sure.

Raoul of Goldenlake was let through the gates with an impatient wave. He had been fallowing the Scanra fellow since he was let through the door. It was odd – what was a Scanran man of such obvious importance doing here in a time of war. Unless he was an ambassador. It seemed unlikely with what he had seen on the Northern border. The Scanrans showed no signs of peace. Filthy people, those Scanrans. When he reached the inner gate he asked for the name of the Scanran man. The fellow flipped through his papers and gave him a badly pronounced name – "Nesalen d'Joar et'aface" Raoul's face went pasty white at the name. The guard looked at him anxiously.  "Is M'lord alright?" Raoul looked up at the man and waved him off walking through the gates. Raoul raked his hands through his ebony hair, what is HE doing here? Nesalan, he was second in command in Scanra. With ten guards to accompany him? What had he done to offend the King? With such a low number perhaps he was no longer second.  He walked through the gardens giving his horse to some servant. He would usually tend to him himself but he wanted to know about this man. With that name he knew where he would be heading. Raoul wanted to talk to Jonathan when he finished with the Scanran. He walked the stone path oblivious to the people and landscape around him. His eyes were downcast and it made it obvious that he was deep in thought. Because of that and the fact that he was on the path to the king no nobles addressed him. 

The royal chambers were far apart from the main palace and nearly impossible to find unless you stayed on this path. It was assumed that the reason was to confuse enemies, but it was doing a good job confusing locals. When you finally reached the building, it is truly beautiful. It was all a white marble stone and carved into the walls were statues edged in gold. The first room was something of a waiting room with ornate chairs and servants to serve them tea or chilled wine. Raoul sat on one of these and dismissed the servant to offer him these. He knew he was in for a long wait. When they did come out they strolled easily side bye side and both wore smiles. The Scanran's seemed to have something beneath it. 

Jonathan ran his eyes along the room and came to rest on Raoul. "Raoul! When did you get back?" He stood and came forward, "Just now. Who is your guest?" Jonathan turned to the man beside him, who answered crisply, "Nesalen d'Joar et'aface" Raoul bowed, "And I am Raoul of Goldenlake the commander of the King's Own." A smile crossed the man's face, "Ah, of course, you caused us quite a bit of trouble." Raoul smiled. If he was talking like this it could only mean peace. Enemies did not say such things. "As did you." Jonathan waved their talk aside, "Raoul – Nesalen has told me great news. Scanra and Tortal are to have peace. He came to summon me to the border where we can negotiate a peace treaty." Raoul made himself grin. "This is indeed wonderful news." The Scanran nodded respectfully "Yes, it truly is. Now if you will excuse me, I must see to my men." Raoul looked blankly at the retreating figure, no one excuses himself from a king in that manner. He was fingering a jewel on his hand while he talked. He turned to Jonathan to tell him of this but as he began to talk and all of his worries faded and washed away as if they had never been. They began to talk of the best knights to send to the border to accompany the King. 

Only the Story line and plot is mine. 


	2. The Forsaken

A wind rose over the Corus palace and swirled through the night air. The palace was calm in the night with pleasant dreams. Nobles slept safely in their cushioned bedrooms; blissfully unaware of how great strife was in the North. The wind whiped along the outer walls, over the outer walls and then steadily began to climb North. It ran over vast plains browned from drought and heat. As the wind rose North the landscape began to diminish - as sure as it was getting colder. Fiefs closer north were less taken care of and all fiefs on the border were abandoned. The roads to the North were deserted. Every once in a while a lone figure would be running south, away from the North. Not even bothering to stop for nightfall. The now cold wind whipped around small hills and majestic pines. The hills grew gradually higher until mountains rose. Valleys with cold rushing streams became the normal landscape. Wolves and bears prowled, uneasy not finding rest in the night. Cities still remained, as if in defiance in to the North. But steadily, they to would fall to shadow.  The cold made food almost impossible to acquire.  Although it was technically summer weather was an icy winter. 

No one dared to leave the city walls to hunt. Odd things prowled in the night. Odd metallic creatures that ate souls and had the voice of a child. And driving them was the Lady of the Night. Her eyes were stars, and her face a crescent moon and her daggers the moonlight. As beautiful and deadly as the night. She became well known in the North, a creature to scare children but at the same time all to real. The Lady driving the creatures with the Scanran army behind her to devourer the free land. Fear became the emotion of all people in the North.

The wind stopped at the Scanran border – as if it did not want to go on.  It swirled and came down around the plato that sat right upon the Scanran border. Camps sat there. Men slept easily, knowing that the camp was guarded. Men slept easily, all prepared for death. All the tents were the same, from the knights to the foot soldiers. They were all equally damned by this position. Surrounding the camp were fully alert watch guards, knowing that a moment of daydreaming could kill a hundred men. 

On the edge of the plato stood a tall man with blond hair cut to his shoulders.  His eyes were crystal blue that betrayed no emotion. His skin was as white as the snow around him. Although he dressed just like all the other men, he seemed different. He used to be a lord. His aura gave off a glow of knowledge and power. He stood their reminiscing the past. His triumphs and as well as the defeats. Personal defeats in his character. When he was younger he was arrogant and ignorant. A full-blooded conservative. Truth and pain had changed his mind. He smiled grimly. His eyes searched the Scanran territory in front of him. The plato was right on the border, if you looked down it would be on Scanra territory. The land seemed darker, stained with blood. He had once been there. He liked to pick out familiar landmarks – to remember why he was here. 

Busy staring at the land in front of him he did not hear the footsteps till they were nearly on top of him. He turned his head just enough to see who was behind him. A tall man, almost his height, stood just a few footsteps behind him. He had short curly locks above his tanned face. He wore the normal garb for the people stationed here. His eyes held something all men knew of – death and endless grief. His eyes had once held this too. It was the sign of a recent loss. 

Joren turned his head back to the North. "I did not see you their, man. Such stealth is useful here." He turned back to the man. "However stealth can only be stretched so far. Go back to your tent. With haste." The man stood, almost stunned at the words. Joren added the last when he made no move too go back. Mentally shrugging he turned back to the North once again. Orders here could be only carried so far. If a man wished to fight a personal war with the north then they were welcome to do so at any moment. Many men came to this spot to make their way down the plato to Scanra territory. Joren had been an exception to this law. This spot was where he had gone into Scanra before. It was well weathered with footsteps of men descending to their deaths. Many of them had death in their eyes, just as this man did. 

He heard stumbled footsteps behind him fallowed by stumbling words "S-sir, Please do not dismiss me so quickly. I have heard of your loss and your crusade against the North." He paused, as if not sure what to say next. "Some things are better left to rot in the dust." He said the words softly but they carried deep weight and seemed loud in the silence. Words used to end a conversation. But the man was persistent. "You went into Scanra, did you not?" He stepped angrily in front of him. "You did as I would have, what me heart yearns to. I too have lost my family to the Night." He clenched his hands in front of his face and thrust them down angrily. He turned to the North. Joren remained silent. He turned back to Joren. His eyes held rage beside the death. "But you returned. What called you back from your death? What called you away from avenging your family? From killing their murders? From the black land that calls you as much as it calls me now. Tell me, why should I not go out there and kill every Scanran that lies between me and death?!"

Through this Joren remained silent and unchanging. In his eyes the smallest emotion betrayed him. Pity. The man caught sight of this and became even more enraged. "Do not pity me! Answer me! Answer me Goddess damn it!" Joren still remained silent. The anger and rage in his eyes changed to something more hard and resentful. HE drew his sword and turned to the path that would lead him down. "Your sources are wrong, man." The man stopped in his tracks. Joren went on "I felt just like you. Full of rage, at the gods, at the king, and most of all Scanra. I forsook my title as knight of the realm and came to the north to fight to the death. Just as law allows me to. So I went and just down this path, to the Lady's embrace or so I thought. About a day later the king's forces came to take me back. They did, but they had to knock me out first." His eyes were once again stone staring into the night; the man might as well have not been there. "They offered me back my title, but I did not take it. Then they offered me to be the first and I took it eagerly." He seemed to come out of his trance and scratched the nape of his neck. "You see, boy," The man stiffened at the address, "It was force that called me back, but what kept me here was that the longer I stayed alive the more Scanrans would die."

Joren dismissed the man, he had done as much as he was asked, and looked to the sky. It was a clear night and because of that it was brutally cold. He pulled his thick cloak around him. "You could catch your death out here tonight." He glanced at the path the man still stood their, frozen in his tracks, "If you decide to stay I would come back to camp quickly. No reason to meet the Lady after such a significant revelation." The name of the Lady was a synonym to death. Joren turned and began his way back to camp. After a while he heard the same quite footsteps behind him. Perhaps he should talk with the man in the morning. He struck him as an intelligent man and stealth was always something to be valued. Here it was considered a blessing to survive a night. People bid people goodnight with wishes to survive the night.

The men who took a position here usually were ready to die. They have no fear of death. Joren is very much this way. He would dance with the Lady at the second's notice, just as any other man here. The king had made a long tradition of never forcing people to guard the border, but Joren knew that it would soon be broken. The North was becoming too aggressive for the few who wished to die. Raoul and his company had pulled out a month ago and it had gone downhill since then. Casualties had doubled as soon as he left. He hoped he came back soon. Raoul had gone to ask the King too force people to serve in the North. It was that or lose his country. Joren thought it was a clear decision but Raoul looked troubled.    

Joren sighed as he came into the camp. 

[ God, I wish I could make these chapters longer but they come to me in parts. Plus I want to be on the first page. It surprised me how much story updates come out daily. It's cool… I guess. The next chapter will be very interesting. At the rate I'm going I would say 7-10 chapters. Please review. ]__


	3. The Assassin

Predawn light crept over the eastern bluffs and down to the camp on the border. The light touched everything equally. It touched the bodies of the men sleeping, who stirred under its touch. It touched the bodies of the dead that lay in the line of battle, who did not stir. It touched the bodies of the men fighting that stood in a line almost shoulder to shoulder. They were the embodiment of the borderline between Scanra and Tortal. All the men held swords, with bloody edges, which glimmered in the light's sweet caress. The battle raged with Scanran men rushing at the line. The battle had raged since sundown. It was normal; the Scanrans liked the cover of darkness. Before Joren came into position as first Scanran men had crept across from the North to raid. There is still many on Torillian soil - people thought that the Lady had passed over before. One Scanran man paused to raise his eyes to the light rising over the bluff. He raised his hands and gave a blood-curling yell. All the Scanrans paused and retreated to the dark forests around them. Torillian men collapsed on the spot. It was always the same, at sundown the Scanrans attacked and retreated at the first sight of light. They raided through the day but nothing like through the night. Men were helped up and hugged - glad to see that they survived the Night. Then the toll was counted and identified and a notice was set out who had not survived. The Night watch retreated as the Day watch approached. Close behind them walked the gravediggers.  
  
Light came to touch a man who had not slept the night. His hair was curly and dark above a well-tanned face. He could have been considered tall next to many men. His eyes held unbearable sadness. This was the same man who had confronted Joren of the fallen Stone Mountain the Night before. Daren had spent the rest of the night walking around the camp. He had not been sure that that was the former lord of Stone Mountain when he had first approached him, but when he turned to him he was sure. Many people talked of his eyes that betrayed nothing. As he walked he had thought about many things. He thought of what his life had been before the raid on Ta'rome. It was his town, he had lived his whole life their.  
  
It was a town in the North and was used to raids, therefore he had learned early on in life the value of stealth and blade. While other village boys learned to till and harvest crops he learned the value of good self- defense. His family and the love of his life had lived there. Then a small riot group decided that his village would be easy meat. He learned later that they had been Scanran men. Although it was well over a year ago it seemed to be the day before. It always had been. His life long friends lay on the ground. His neighbors strung across their lawns. The innkeeper, the blacksmith, the healer, the farmers, all of them laid across the town roads as if they were sleeping. He could never forget the blood of his sister smeared on the floor. Never the body of his father's body strung valiantly in front of his mother's or her lifeless stare. He could never forget his love's last words. Or the sight of his village wreathed in flames. There had been to many bodies to dig graves for them all. So he set the village a flame. He watched as his home turned into ash. He traveled North, to avenge his family. He had heard many stories of men doing the same as he.  
  
When he had approached the fallen noble the night before his story stirred in his mind. The only man to return from Scanran territory. One question had came before him - why? Why had he returned? He had asked and had received his answer. "It was force that called me back, but what kept me here was that the longer I stayed alive the more Scanrans would die." So simple and yet truth. He paused to see the light come over the hills. A single pinprick of light rose along the bluff. The darkness of the night faded to a paler blue edged with violet. As it began to rise further the violet rose with it. Beyond that pinks, reds and oranges rose beside it. The sun was an orb of red. It was as beautiful as the harvest moon. Beholding this the man felt a sense of hope and serenity that he had not felt since he left home. A new day. A chance to start anew.  
  
He knew what his choice would be. Men hurried around him eager to be on their way. He stood in the middle of traffic of men. They were wide-awake and had obviously been up for a long time. Some hurried to their tents, the night watch. Others hurried to the border, the day watch. None paid any mind to him. His eyes searched the crowd but he did not dare ask someone. He first searched the inner camp areas and then around the outskirts. When he came to an opening the person he was searching stood there. Joren stood just as impressive as the night before. Next to him stood a middle height woman with brown wavy hair that fell below her shoulders. Her amber eyes sparkled with a light that seemed to come from within. She wore the clothes of a man, which was odd even to his eyes. She did not seem to be a fighter but yet someone of obvious importance. The man next to him had long dark hair pulled back into a bind at the nape of his neck. Even pulled back it was obvious that just as long as the woman next to him. His clothes were better than the other two's and reeked of importance. His black eyes glimmered with the same type of light, as the woman's but yet different. The woman's seemed more humble than the man's - easier not to notice. The three of them standing together would humble even a noble.  
  
They talked together quietly so that he could not hear what they were saying. Daren let out a sigh and approached them as humbly as possible. "The barriers are weakening." The woman trailed off as she saw him approach. He dropped to one knee before Joren. He made his voice as humble as possible. "M'lord, I wish to be taken under your service - as a servant if it pleases you." The two people next to him looked stunned at his motions. Joren pulled him to his feet almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. His eyes were fire. "Never, never do that again." His voice trembled with rage. He obviously tried to calm down. "The men around here try not to show which people are in charge. Scanrans could be watching at this very moment with an arrow nocked - where do you think they would aim now?" He was in awe of his words. He had not thought of that. Gathering his courage he humbly said, "I am sorry M'lord, but if I even did not know who you are, I would know by just they way you stand. You have an aura of power." He licked his lips wondering if he had said too much. "M'lord."  
  
There was an awkward silence until the woman let out a giggle. It was bells to his ears. How long had it been since he had last heard laughter? Taking Daren's hand in hers, "I am sorry, lad, but Joren here has no sense of humor. You have good courage to say such a thing. You do not seem like a servant, why do you ask to be one?" The man next to her let out an exasperated sigh. "Daine forgets herself. I am called Numair Salmalin and my lovely companion is Daine Sarrasri." The word companion seemed to have something behind it. Daine blushed scarlet. Daren stared openly at the two. The name Daine was well known even in his small town. The wildmage who could talk to animals and one of the most powerful mages in the realm. He caught himself in mid bow. His eyes flickered to Joren. Daine looked as if she wanted to giggle again. And yesterday he met the fallen lord of Stone Mountain. He collected his wits to answer her question. "No, I am not. But if that is where I have to start I will. I wish to serve under . Joren. Directly."  
  
Once again there was a silence. Joren cleared his throat before speaking again, "Where did you grow up, lad?" Daren's face became stone; he would not let him see his despair at the simple question. "Ta'rome." Joren raised one cool eyebrow, he could not tell if he recognized the name or not, "That is in the North, is it not?" Daren gave a curt nod as his answer. "Then you have more than enough training. People in the North learn the blade while still in the cradle. What is your name?" He was caught off guard by the question, he supposed he should have introduced himself when Daine and Numair did but it was too late for that. "Daren Avvare."  
  
"Well then, Daren, I accept you as my squire." He caught himself before pinching his arm. Never, never had he even thought of this! His words came out in a rough voice, "M'lord, I-I am nothing but a simple village boy! I have had no page training and I a-am not a noble, I am too old-" While he said this Joren's face came as close to amusement as he had ever seen. He cut him off "A page is given four years training in the ways of battle and mind. You have easily accomplished the battle area of this by your lifetime of battle in the North. You can accomplish the thinking part in double here. You will have to be a squire longer than usual, though, if just to answer questions. Men older than you have been a page and as for being nobly born," his eyes grew deeper, obviously deep in thought, "you have not heard of the new decree given by the king. He declared that all men of all statuses may train to become a knight."  
  
When he said the last part he seemed to be thinking out loud, rather than talking to Daren. His eyes widened when it was clear that this was real and nothing stood in his way. He forgot himself so much that he forgot to ask why he had picked him. Joren came out of the thought and blinked his eyes once. He cleared his voice, "Now go find Master Lunhand and tell him of your new status he will see that you get everything you need." Daren stopped in mid bow and hurried away. He heard the conversation pick up as he left. He was so excited that he forgot to head in the right direction. As he hurried towards the trees pain shot through him and he gave a startled cry. Everything went black.  
  
  
  
Joren turned when he heard a cry come from the trees. The lad, Daren, lay there with a black arrow shot in his chest. Joren looked at the tree lines and froze. A figure in black stood just beyond the first tress. You could not tell by the thick clothes that she wore, but in her eyes it was clear she was a woman. Her eyes glimmered with a light close to madness. She glared at him and then disappeared amongst the trees. Numair's voice broke his trance, "He is dead." Joren stood frozen. I should have let him go over the border. Daine looked up at him curiously, "Did you see the shooter?" Joren shook his head - it must have been his imagination. There was no way that he just saw the Lady herself. She looked puzzled, "Because who ever it was got past without my birds giving alarm."  
  
[oooh - the plot thickens. This takes place about five years after Joren became a knight. This is AU so he is not dead - obviously. It is AU in a couple other ways but you'll find out later. Kel and the others will be showing up in a few chapters. I'll be away for about a week, so don't expect another chapter till' then. Thank you to all my reviewers and especially to mementoisthebestmovieever for reviewing both chapters. Please review. ] 


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